Bend to Squares
by ryeden
Summary: So unfamiliar with these feelings, he merely scattered the reunited pieces of paper and stood up, watching as he saw the fragments of what could have formed their feelings fly further and further apart. He left the building; he didn't allow himself to remember the fading passion in Yusei's eyes. Kingcrabshipping; Jack x Yusei. Oneshot.


So, I've been watching Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, and I was shipping Yusei and Jack together from the first episode. Probably unhealthy, but oh well.

I love the hopeless, hateful dynamic that creates their (misinterpreted [come on, we're fangirls after all]) love.

_Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! does not belong to me. I do not claim to own these characters, and I make no profit from this story._

So, here's some Kingcrabshipping for you. It's a one-shot, mainly focusing on some symbolism for our Jack.

Please read and review!

_- zlae_

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**Bend to Squares**

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Jack snarled at the retreating figure and moved to turn away, his blonde hair whipping across his face. He held his hands up to the sky, and something brushed against the calloused skin. He caught it in his left palm, trapped it and gave it no room to escape.

It was a piece of paper, he realized instantly. The edges were ripped and slightly wet, and the texture was rough.

More pieces of paper flew past him, and he missed most of them. So many things flew by without him even making an effort to reach towards them, and so he disregarded them. Yusei wouldn't of; Yusei would've clutched at them with eager hands; acknowledging every opportunity with open eyes.

But not these miniscule pieces.

No, they barreled right into Jack's chest, with no force behind their almost-nonexistent weight.

They reminded him of Yusei; with his rugged, malnourished look and his street knowledge. His black, unruly hair and his cobalt eyes. Jack couldn't help but remember the way that he had pulled at the fraying lengths of string that had sewn Yusei shut, and laughed with a malicious smile as he dismissed the torn look of Yusei's expression; his slumped stature; the many bags under his eyes.

They're captured in his palm, and he had no intention of letting them go. Sitting cross-legged on the stained pavement, he turned his back to the wind and put the pieces together like a mosaic. He hoped he could still make something beautiful out of their decaying and withering love.

The pieces of seemingly random paper form a picture.

It was an old drawing, made by a young boy with no knowledge of anatomy. The people's limbs were sticks; their heads were obnoxiously large. He peered closer at the makeshift drawing (as some pieces were missing) and saw three gaping holes within the drawing that couldn't help but capture his attention.

The black holes were over the two men's chests; and the last was where Jack supposed their entwined hands would be.

Only then did Jack notice their dead stares; their blatant refusal to acknowledge each other despite their obvious touch.

And finally, Jack realised who the couple was.

He saw his muscular and tall stature; he noticed Yusei's slumped and smaller figure.

He felt a pang in his chest and slowly turned every piece of torn paper over, and exposed the message.

They formed three words. Jack only wished they would say the classic, "I love you", but their relationship never was healthy.

"You promised me," it read.

Jack felt a sort of wetness in what should have been his steady eyes, and he felt weakness. So unfamiliar with these feelings, he merely scattered the reunited pieces of paper and stood up, watching as he saw the fragments of what could have formed their feelings fly further and further apart.

He left the building; he didn't allow himself to remember the fading passion in Yusei's badly-drawn eyes.

Later that night, Jack had retreated to his large, barely-lived in house and shivered when his bare feet brushed across the cold tiles. It was so harsh and barren; filled with ornate furniture and yet so empty. It just wasn't the same without him, though Jack was too stubborn to ever admit it.

Jack turned the lights off and allowed himself to feel the burn of the cold, and he sat on his chair facing the desk he so rarely used.

He withdrew a piece of paper and a nearly empty pen.

He rewrote the words in the drawing he saw earlier, and in his crude script he saw the words, "you promised me."

It wasn't right.

He crossed them out with the nearly used-up pen, wrote them and re-wrote them again.

He nearly gave up, and in a silent sort of compliance he wrote them one last time.

"You promised me." It read.

No matter what he did, he couldn't get rid of this guilt. It tore at him, and pushed him down with its' force.

He crossed some letters out, added one important letter, and added another letter that could pass for a word. He drew an arrow to show that one of the words' position had changed.

"I miss you." It now read.

It still didn't work.

He felt childish and stupid, writing those three words. So he moved his hand to cross out the truthful sentence.

The pen brushed across the paper with the elegance he had been forced to create, but nothing happened.

Confused, he tried to cross it out again.

No mark; no taint.

The pen was empty; all the effort was wasted, no ink was spared for when he needed it most.

Jack couldn't erase these feelings, no matter how much he wished he could.

So, he did the thing he was best at.

He used the sharp point of the pen and tore through the words, till all that was left was a gaping hole.

Then he crumpled it up.

Now it was a broken, shriveled thing; so alike their fading passion that he shivered. He picked up the paper and threw it into the only warm thing in his pristine house.

The fire encompassed it, licking along the page and crackling in what Jack presumed was delight as it fed upon the fuel. The fire was uncontrollable, and soon all that was left of the paper Jack had confided in was a black, scattered ash.

The scorched, dead ashes reminded Jack so strongly of himself that he grinned. He grabbed a poker and stabbed into the logs that were at the unquenchable fire's mercy, and imagined Yusei enfolding him. Yusei, now larger than life itself, picked up a smaller Jack and wrapped him around his long fingers. Yusei was everywhere, circling the ashes that formed him.

Jack dropped the poker on the tiles and the tip of it turned red-hot in the heat.

He laughed.

His forceful laugh echoed throughout the quiet, previously undisturbed house, and all he could hear in his ringing ears was the wrongness.

Though he had laughed, he had never felt more hollow.

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_end._


End file.
